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The night was moonless during the second filming of Very Ferry. This made the precipitous tower gone on forever in the yellow and pink spotlights. Two contestants had panic attacks upon seeing the obstacle. The Bobcat Sandbox became a trending topic amongst the fans who were tuning in for the pre-show. It was a 15-foot deep sand pit with sheer walls and 25 bobcats lingered about. Grigsby hadn’t fed them in days to make them more agitated.

“No, no they’re just like big house cats, no need to worry,” Ira said into the phone, he was on the phone with their insurance company who was watching the pre-show from their offices. “Light scratches are the most they can do.” Ira looked at Grigsby for approval, but he was busy shining a laser pointer into the pit and laughing.

Ira was able to get the insurance lady off the phone feeling content but not happy. He prayed that the people in chat room were feeling less bloodthirsty but knew it was a hollow hope. Ira watched the contestants warming up, some were doing pushups, others playing trivial pursuit, another trying to learn Swahili. Preparing for Very Ferry is the equivalent of training for space shuttle launch while taking the MCATs.

The Filipino Men’s Gymnastics team were on the far side of the ferry alone. Grigsby watched them from one of the TV screens. Despite being on the windward side and getting sprayed by seawater, they were meditating. Grigsby watched them for a long time and gasped when he realized what was happening. The outside temperature was around 55°F, with heavy gusts. The gymnast should be freezing as they sat there stoically soaking wet. Instead, steam lifted from their bodies. Grigsby knew what this was.

Decades ago, Grigsby took a gap year between boarding school and university. He went on a vision quest starting in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia and bringing him through Kathmandu, Nepal. Here he met a dying Buddhist. Grigsby spent weeks in the Buddhist’s cabin in the foothills of the Himalayas. It was here he learned how to reach a heightened state through deep meditation. He learned how to direct energy throughout his body. Grigsby uses it today to offset hangovers or feelings of dismay after heavily feeding on pork shoulder.

The gymnasts were doing this to attain ultimate strength. Grigsby called his bookie who lives full-time in a bowling alley outside Riverdale. Grigsby spoke to him about a large bet he’d like to place.

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“If we’re in line to surpass the Kardashians we can pay off the investors in no time,” Ira said, excited to hear the news.

Grigsby nodded, “People watch those mooks play scrabble and tweeze their eyebrows. Our show is far more entertaining.”

“But we’ll have to raise the stakes Grigs, it’s the only way to stay on top.”

“The live chat room recommendations will do that for us, we’ll scale that up and allow more carnage,” Grigsby said as he sorted through a variety of new silk handkerchiefs for tonight’s show.

Ira clear his throat, “I mean to raise the stakes in the less dangerous areas, perhaps more difficult cerebral obstacles?”

“Sure, we can do that,” Grigsby said, half listening.

Later that afternoon they reviewed the lineup of contestants and obstacles. The new contestants were an all male gymnastics team from the Philippines. They looked like clones; they all had 2% bodyfat, lean cut muscles and sinew veins. None of them were above 5’4. Grigsby liked them. He knew just the obstacle he’d unveil tonight for them. He broached the idea to Ira.

“Where are we going to get 25 bobcats? The Bronx Zoo doesn’t have a rental policy.” Ira said.

“Don’t worry about that, I know a guy. What’s going to be tricky is the sand. We’re going to need a fuckton of sand. Get Joji to fetch some from the shoreline, have the interns help.”

An hour later Joji reluctantly took a tender boat ashore with a pack of their unpaid interns. Joji couldn’t tell what made him more upset, the fact his manicured hands will be ruined from collecting piles of sand. Or the interns ceaseless barage of questions about what are his the life hacks to success. “Strangling my competitors.” Joji thought to himself. Then he smiled and knew it was time to unleash his masterplan.

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“Number one?” Grigsby asked.
The nervous production assistant forced a smile, “Yes, we’re the highest rated show right now on television across the board.”

Grigsby grinned at Ira. “See?”

Ira nodded agreeably at his friend, “You’re right Grigs. But that was utter chaos. We cannot sustain this, contestants are going to quit before starting. The odds are stacked against them.”
“Wrong. There are no odds, it’s pure chance, that’s why the viewers love it.” Grigsby said.
“Yes, but how can we hedge against something terrible Grigs?”
“I have a plan,” Grigsby told the production assistant to leave the room, “Any calamities should be directed onto Joji. He’ll be our fall guy. That should weaken his resolve.”

Ryūki knocked twice and entered the door to the room. He looked haggard, sunken eyes and pale skin. He pulled up a stool and sat. Ira and Grigsby exchanged surprised glances.

“What the hell happened? You look like Charlie Sheen.” Grigsby asked.
“Joji happened. I’ve been watching him for 65 hours straight. I can’t find a single thing to use against him or proof that he’s in contact with the Yakuza.”

The room stayed silent for a while. The ships internal workings bellowed like a low playing organ. Someone was knocking on the door lightly. Grigsby motioned to Ira to open it, he saw the production assistants face peak in.

“Sir it’s the executives at Fox, they want to speak with you.”
“Are we being sued?” Grigsby asked.
“Um, one moment.” The production assistant whispered into the phone, nodded and looked at Grigsby, “No we’re not.”
“Good, I’ll take the call.” Grigsby took the phone and walked onto the bow of the ferry. Ira and Ryuki watched as he seemed to be laughing into the phone. Then he began jumping up and down like a child on Christmas morning.

Ira looked at Ryūki who just gave a weak shrug and nodded off into a quiet nap. Moments later Grigsby came in with a grin ear to ear.

“They love the show and want to give us more time slots. Soon we’ll dethrone those inept Kardashians.”

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The 80s synth music blared from towering speakers aboard the ferry. Joji ran on to the stage as the cameras went live, marking the first episode of Very Ferry game show. He did a front flip and grabbed the microphone, his hair didn’t move an inch it was caked in so much gel it looked like a baby seal after an oil spill.

“Welcome to Very Ferry the world’s most difficult game show where the body, mind, and spirit are pushed to their absolute limits. Tonight we’re unlocking true human potential as the contestants will face unimaginable feats.” Joji continued his speech while Grigsby and Ira watched from the control room. The production assistant avoided Grigsby’s gaze as he leaned over to see the viewership count. Fifteen million people had tuned in. He grinned.

“Are the live chats open and running?” Grigsby asked.
“Yes sir, waiting for your command to start accepting them.” the production assistant said.
“Granted.”

The Very Ferry live streaming chat room immediately was flooded with preliminary requests. Grigsby and Ira looked at the screen. Ira gasped and immediately started estimated insurance costs.

“Amazing. They’re total savages.” Grigsby chuckled.

The show started with the contestants climbing a giant rock wall. The holds were painted purple or red, what contestants didn’t know was that some of the holds are fruit, from bananas to apples. Joji sounded the buzzer and the group scrambled the wall at once. One clown fell twenty feet and the crowd cheered.

The live chats started and were demanding that the other clown fall. Payments started flooding in to make it happen. Once it eclipsed $5,000 Joji was instructed to fire a t-shirt cannon at the clown who was nearly at the summit of the wall. On the fourth shot, a rolled up t-shirt hit the clown’s red hair and sent him falling. Profits tripled as he fell.

The show continued, the contestants who survived had to decipher a series of Caesar box ciphers, an old code training exercise the NSA uses. One woman named Tessa was dominating, she was first over the wall and cracked the code in a minute making her the winner of tonight. The fans loved her.

Grigsby patted Ira’s shoulder, “We have a world-class hit on our hands.”
“I don’t know Grigs, the carnage, it’s almost too much.”
“There’s no such thing,” Grigsby waved over the production assistant, “What are the ratings saying?”

The production assistant handed a printed report and Ira couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “That’s impossible.”

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Off the coast of Fairfield, Connecticut lay a spectacle tonight. A massive ferry, ablaze in spotlights, sat anchored and surrounded by spectating ships. News helicopters circled the area and people ashore watched the big screens on barges light up the night. The country’s latest Japanese inspired game show, Very Ferry, is premiering.

Grigsby reveled in the spectacle. He wore his favorite double-breasted suit from Saville Row. Bunny, his wife, gave him a new silk handkerchief that was adorned in tiny ferries and dolphins. He smirked at it and looked down at a nervous production assistant who always seemed to be on the verge of a complete panic attack.

“What are the projected viewership numbers?” Grigsby asked.
“Over 10 million, and climbing, sir.”
“Grand, if we can surpass 20 million, I’ll buy you a house. 50 million I’ll buy you a house that is in a no-shooting section of the State.”
The production assistant hesitated. “Thank, thank, you sir, I’ll do my best.”
“No, you won’t. Doing ‘your best,'” Grigsby made air quotes, “Means you’re appealing to your standards. I want you shooting for my standards which I can assure you are more colossal. Doing your best is a crock of shit. Do your job.” Grigsby lit a cigar.

The production assistant looked as if he was about to faint, vomit, or both. Grigsby noticed this and leaned over to the production assistant and reached into his suit pocket. “Here,” Grigsby said, handing the production assistant something wrapped in cellophane paper. She unfolded it to reveal a giant black and white cookie from Grigsby’s favorite deli. “This is the secret to success,” Grigsby said and walked away.

Joji sat in a director’s chair getting his eighth layer of makeup applied. He wore a teal suit that had pandas smoking cigarettes on it. He looked to be meditating as Grigsby approached. Grigsby noticed the inkling of a tattoo on Joji’s wrist, a Yakuza design.

“Grigsby m’boy! How you be? Fun night yes!?” Joji said.
“Yes Joji, are you sure you understand the first obstacle? If it goes wrong we’re toast. That human bird cage looks less stable than a Cosmopolitan journalist.”
Joji waved his hand like he was swatting a fly, “It’ll be fine Grigsby, you worry too much. Very Ferry will be…very merry!”
Grigsby slapped his palm to his face to hide his anger. He turned and walked away shouting “Showtime in 15 minutes.”

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Ryūki agreed to keep tabs on Joji but insisted that the show must go on. So it did. The following week was the premiere night. The networks greenlit the show and Grigsby was getting everything prepared for the U.S. debut of the Very Ferry Game Show. Joji had spent several hours trying on new neon colored suits. Grigsby watched him from the bridge while smoking a cigar.

“How can a swashbuckling wimp like Joji be a gangster?” Grigsby asked Ira. He was reviewing insurance estimates for covering the show’s dangerous obstacles. “Ira?”

“What? Grigs, I don’t know, don’t piss him off tonight. He cannot know that we’re on to him.”

Grigsby pouted and ate some chocolate cake that Bunny made his team. The double fudge layers made him smile. It was no Baked Alaska, his favorite, but it still tasted glorious.

“How the insurance looking? We covered?” Grigsby asked.
“Almost…I think, I think we’re going to be okay. If someone dies were screwed. But maimed or burned, we’re covered.”
“Good. You, sir, get a nice piece of cake!” Grigsby slid a plate across the table which knocked all the papers down.
“Dammit Grigsby!”
“Sorry. I got excited. Forget that stuff, we’ll deal with it later. Take your cake and come with me. We need to get ready for the premiere.”

Grigsby didn’t know what hell waited for him tonight.

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Ryūki pushed his hair back and exhaled, “I saw Joji during a wardrobe change. His tattoos are tebori style, the Japanese way, no gun, only wood and metal rods. I saw the designs, one is an Oni Mask, the demon.” Ira handed Ryūki some water.

Ira was staring at the small TV screen watching the contestants catch ping pong balls shot out by Dolphins.

“Ira!”
“Sorry, yes we vetted him. Clearly it’s a pseudonym. And the Tokyo investors we’re tied up with must also be connected with the Yakuza.”
“Terrific, I got a flamboyant Tony Soprano running my game show.” Grigsby stood and looked at the TV. The contestants were now inside a plastic tank that was gushing with seawater and they’re trying to stuff bananas in the holes to prevent themselves from drowning. “What a mess.”

Ira looked at Ryūki, “What should we do?”
Ryūki considered this in silence for a long time, “We wait. Study him and when the time’s right, we’ll strike.”

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Filming went on for six days without a hitch. Their new filming location off the coast of Connecticut offered suitable privacy. The coast guard, however, did stop by after reports of strange goat noises coming from the ship. Ira assured them there are no farm animals aboard. Grigsby felt there was enough sample footage to make the networks happy. His goal is to have the game show on 3 prime time slots.

After a full day of negotiating from the deck of the ferry, every network agreed to air the show. The key selling point is the live capability Grigsby presented. Although, one network asked if there were limits to viewers requests.

The two policemen woke up at once. The heavier one reached for his pistol but Grigsby calmed him down. The bright stage lights were blinding them, Grigsby gave the signal to dim them. The Very Ferry theme song faded with the lights. Soon the police saw what lain around them, dozens of pink energy drink cans.

The heavyset one stood up and puffed out his cheeks. Cupping his mouth he ran for the starboard side of the ferry and vomited overboard. Grigsby was happy the man had the decency to do that off of the ferry. The policeman, now pale, lumbered back to his seat. His partner looked at him, then at Grigsby.

“I don’t know what happened but you’re all under arrest.” he said.
“What? You two volunteered to be in the show. It was a chugging contest and you both crushed it.” Grigsby said, acting aloof. The cops looked at each other. Grigsby continued to tell a surprisingly detailed description of the fictitious events. Ryūki came down from the bridge and handed the police a gold trophy which was a unicorn piloting a flaming ferry. Ryūki pretended not to know English and disappeared.

“You’re both winners!” Grigsby declared. Confetti flared in the air and bikini clad models in sailor hats came running over to them for a fake photo shoot. Grigsby feels models in sailor hats are the anger antidote for men. It seemed to work, soon the police were making poses and high-fiving. Ira came over and showed them back to their police boat and they motored away.

Ira, Grigsby and Ryūki returned to the bridge. Grigsby brushed his hands through his hair and exhaled loudly. “Jesus what a clusterfuck.” His friends nodded. “Let’s get the hell out of here. I’ve charted a course to the Sound. We’ll anchor off of the coast of Fairfield, Connecticut, where medicated housewives and depraved trust fund babies run wild.”

The ferry hauled up its anchors and motored by Lady Liberty. She looked warm in the evening light. A cool breeze swept over the deck and brought hints of trash and fuel scents from Staten Island. Soon they made it out to the Sound with the Gotham skyline shimmering aft in distance. Skyscraper windows were pinpricks like stars across a black sky.

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Grigsby and Ira looked down at the two unconscious NYPD officers. Their skin was hot pink like the Japanese energy drink cans they drank.

“Are they glowing?” Ira asked.
Grigsby nodded and picked up the can to examine it. “Joji, what does all this Japanese writing say?”
Joji squinted at the character and mumbled. “Can cause seizures and sedation.”

Ira looked down at the ferry floor where contestants were looking for their hypeman. He told Joji to get down there and ensure no one comes up to the bridge. Ira paced around the room trying to think about what to do with the police.

“Okay we can wait for them to wake up naturally and then explain what happened, they should—”

“That’ll take all night, we’re running out of time to film. Here’s what you can do.” Grigsby paused and picked up his radio, “Ryūki get to the bridge stat.”

“First, have Joji send all the cameramen and contestants in the ship’s hold below deck.” Grigsby said. Ryūki radioed Joji’s earpiece and told him Grigsby’s orders. It took a few minutes to get everyone below deck.

After some backbreaking work, the three men were able to prop up the police officers into chairs on stage. Grigsby tossed the empty cans at their feet and began opening more energy drinks and dumping the contents into the water. Moments later there were dozens of empty cans surrounding the snoozing officers. They looked like two frat boys during welcome week at Rutgers.

“Ryūki, go into my golf bag and get some smelling salts,” Grigsby said.

Ryūki returned and handed the smelling salts over. Grigsby fired up the lights to the stage. “It’s showtime!” Grigsby shouted. He walked over to the policemen and began to open the salts. Grigsby didn’t expect what happened next.

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